Huntress

I stalk in the shadows, looking for prey. The unsuspecting innocent, the naive wanderer, they are what I hunt. They do not realize, those humans with their money and power, who really runs this city.

I smile to myself as I target my prey. A human, so weak and petty, caught up in his own thoughts, does not even notice me. Such a foolish race, they evolved away from us, the master race. My prey still does not even feel my presence, for I am a master among masters, a true Lady of The Night.

My prey turns down an alley, between two apartment buildings. What is it like, I wonder, to be so unaware of the world? To never hear the song of the stars, never see the color of eternity? To live each moment aware of only my mortality, not seeing my part in the greater scheme of things? I shudder. Such an oblivious existence would drive me mad. That is why we are the hunters, and they the prey.

And yet, these weak creatures have something we lack. They hope. For each new day, they hope for something better, reasoning that their luck must change someday. Perhaps the ability to hope is a human instinct, a survival tactic. It keeps them alive for extended periods of time.

Perhaps we can not hope, because we are forced to suffice with only memories of the sun and our mortality. I have lived for so long, that I can no longer remember what it is like to be mortal, no longer remember what the sun feels like, though I know I felt it once. Maybe it is that, that fading memory, that denies us hope. These humans worship the day as some sort of god, living their lives beneath the sun's glory, or so it often seems. Some claim to worship the night, but they fear it, as they should. My people are the night given form, denied the sunlight and warmth.

I clear my thoughts and bring my attention back to the object of my hunt. He begins to fumble for a key in his coat pocket, and I strike.

I kick his legs out from under him, and he falls. I am once again amazed at how I had once been one of these weak creatures. A wrenching of consciousness, and I feel my human teeth lengthen into fangs. I bite into the flesh of his neck and drink my fill of his life's blood.

These humans, with their salty-sweet blood, seem to have been created for the sole purpose of feeding my kind. This man is a feast for one such as me, who has not fed in several days, not because of lack of skill, but because I choose to. Hunger makes the hunt more fulfilling.

I drop his limp body to the ground, face up, and look him in the eye. He has dark brown eyes, already clouding in death. I listen to his faint heartbeat a moment more before smiling at him. He mouths the word "why" with colorless lips. I look at him with a mixture of pity and amusement before turning and walking away.

I leave the body there, in that alley, knowing that by dawn it will not be there. I will sleep, while the other humans search for my one-time prey.

That man, he will rise again as one of us, to feed upon the humans that he too will look on with contempt. He will join me, as a Hunter in the Night. Perhaps we will hunt together.

I can not help but wonder, as I stroll out of the alley, changing back into my human form, will this man, too, forget his mortality? Or will he remember what I forced him to leave behind? Will he damn me for cursing him in such a way? Or will he thank me for alleviating the dull treads of mortality? He will join the hunt, whether he wishes or not. Hunt or starve; no one starves. But will he too, forget the sunlight, as I did?

Maybe so, maybe no. It does not matter.

It has never mattered. It has always been the same, always will be the same. All over the city, those such as I are hunting and killing, feeding the eternal hunger. But they hunt with less skill. I do not condemn them for being inept; after all, everyone must eat. And I was once like them, unskilled but eager to test my newfound skills, like a child with a toy. Perhaps they are less skilled because they view their immortality as a curse, and not the blessing that it truly is. Perhaps their attitude prevents them from hunting. Or perhaps it is simply that I am the best. But I am the best of the best, as even the least skilled Hunter is superior to any mere human.

No, those humans in their offices do not know who runs this city. And those who do know, will join the hunt soon. This is as it always has been, and always will be. Such things do not change.

Tonight's hunt was good, very good. I look forward to when I will stalk the shadows again.